You raised me from hell
by MayVergilCry
Summary: Prior to the duel on top of the Temen-ni-gru, Francesca was an ordinary archive specialist turned Order of The Sword elite who must investigate the mysterious cloaked figure who invaded her workplace during mass. For the next year, she will experience turmoil, hatred, remorse, love and discover her true past and purpose. And what do her 'nightmares' truly mean...?
1. Prologue

Writer's Note: Hey all! After endless pondering and finally getting my hands on DMC5, I've decided to get myself back into writing again.

No joke - I took a day off work to play the game with a massive pizza in celebration of the return of the Sparda crew. I completed the damn thing in less than 10 hours. Worth it!

As some of you already know, this will imply heavy spoilers for those who have not played the game yet, so be warned – Spoilers ahead in the forthcoming chapters!

This is my first story in a long time, so I'm not sure how decent this attempt will be.

Disclaimer: I do not own any aspects of the Devil May Cry franchise – all belongs to Capcom. I own only the characters such as Francesca and others which I will indicate in the upcoming chapters.

Hope you all enjoy!

Prologue

_What is it men in women do require?_

_The lineaments of Gratified Desire._

_What is it women do in men require?_

_The lineaments of Gratified Desire._

23rd May 1994, 23:45pm

The cold hallway had little effect on her cold skin as Francesca slowly approached the voices. For so many years, she has been lied to. The deception, the advantage he took of her, the wordsof his poetry, his cold hands' grasp, that tender voice. Fury took hold of her like a virus, choking her, clutching her, not letting go. Slowly, she kneeled in the middle of the cathedral's central hall. Sighing deeply, the woman pulled out her sword from its scabbard, and held it delicately in her palms.

"I'm a poet…suffers my eyes…to be filled with vermilion tears" she gulped as she whispered the words. Lifting the sword above her head with the tip pointed at the ceiling, the young woman jabs the blade through her stomach, whimpering as a metallic taste flooded her mouth. She pushed the blade deeper, forcing more blood out of her weakened body amidst the silence of the consecrated monument.

"I shall summon thee from your eternal graves…to enslave me once more. I shall accept my punishment in exchange for an innocent life…"

'_As long as you are safe…'_


	2. Chapter 1

June 25th 1993, 10:30pm

Another silent night was fast approaching as Francesca was preparing for another expected-to-be-a-mundane-night-shift. She stared out of her window from her spacious but warm residence, staring into the distant mountain range overlooking Fortuna. She could just about optically distinguish the castle – a guardian of the city and its inhabitants housing all of their notions. She let out a sigh and observed the vapour on the window, already shrinking in size from the size of an apple to a pea, and then nothing. A minuscule smirk imprinted itself on her full lips, as she recollected her childhood habits of breathing on windows and lettering messages to her friends residing opposite. Whilst warmth entered her chest from the recollections, she began to feel a melancholy nostalgia – the simplicity of childhood is a continuous crave she would never get back whilst simultaneously, she was relieved she has escaped from the constant brutalities it held.

The silence of her dormitory was interrupted by the crackling of the fire in her fireplace, followed by a tender chirp from a Robin Red Breast bird as it landed for a quick rest on Francesca's window sill. After an expeditious glance at the clock hanging from a cream-coloured wall opposite the window of the living room to retain her focus, Francesca pushed herself from the window, sighed again, and picked up her beige motorbike helmet and gloves from the sofa arm rest that stood in the corner of the room. Her holster for her sword was already fastened at her left hip; she preferred to prepare in advance. All dressed in her matching colour motorbike suit, she picks up her svelte rapier sword that was laid meticulously on the fireplace's mantle and slid it effortlessly into her holster. The sword was long, slender and elegantly designed. The handle was a concave deep blue tipped with a quartz sphere for contrast. The blade guard was even more intricate – spirals of dragon tails and feathers delicately circling the handle and a diminutive floral embellishing travelling its way down the unusually thick blade. Whilst the men have motor-powered blades precisely crafted by the mysterious Agnus, the women were given lighter but faster blades. She gave the sword an expeditious check and nodded subtly, approving its condition. The sword's holster was much plainer – a charcoal-coloured shell intended to draw minimum attention to it. Whilst Fortuna's residence is habituated to soldiers patrolling, she was cautious of her 'unique' abilities that established her reputation and recent promotion as the gatekeeper of the archive assets located in the city's underground depths.

Francesca ambled hurriedly to her marbled bathroom, still steaming from her before-work shower. She never thought of herself as what people these days deem 'attractive', nor did she honestly care. She was a woman of tall stature, with shoulders that are narrow and hips curvy, exhibiting her hourglass figure despite many attempts of hiding it due to modesty habits and work habits. Today, she decided to go for a practical approach consisting of a burgundy halter turtleneck tank top and ebony leather trousers and matching dark red knee-high boots with a dyad of buckles on each boot. She wore a necklace with a crescent moon pendant for some style over her top. Her face was heart-shaped with a minuscule chin, coupled with deep blue and minute almond-shaped eyes, emphasised only by her dark eye shadow and long double-layered lashes. Francesca's lips were full, coupled with a distinctive cupid's bow. Her shoulder-length fringed hair was a conspicuous pale blonde. To Francesca, she was average at best - appropriate for her goal of living a low-profile lifestyle.

Francesca has aimed for staying as low-profile as possible throughout her life. Before her days as a decorated Order of the Sword soldier, she lived a quiet life as a library archive specialist. Similar job to her current one, minus the weapons, endless demons and less reading. However, after stumbling upon a forbidden text merely by accident describing the brutal history of the once legendary demon gatekeepers who preserved accord between humans and devils, fell. That was also when her dreams turned into nightmares. Literally. And such nightmares quickly became reality, whilst giving her unusual strength and skills she never learned. Her increased involvement with demonic activities resulted in her recruitment within the Order, rapidly increasing her ranks in exchange for her still being given access to the archives in the hopes of finding more about the nightmares. Before Fortuna, Francesca traversed through varied lands and societies for the past decade, before settling in the city thanks to its isolation. Fortuna has given her a serenity she only dreamt of. Whilst demons are a prevalent inconvenience, they are also the reason she is able to pay the bills and have bread on the table.

In her hallway, Francesca put on her white Fortuna soldier jacket with the red emblem for The Order on her right sleeve on top of her motorbike suit. The cool and moist autumn air filled her nostrils and made her eyes teary as she jogged to her treasured BMW R60/5 that took her almost five years to transport to Fortuna. Turning her head for a final goodbye-for-the-night glance at her dormitory on a quiet street, Francesca revved the bike engine and took off, leaving behind a trail of brake smoke.

The trip was rapid, given that there are little to no cars on Fortuna's narrow roads at 11:00pm. Francesca turned off the engine as she approached her customary parking space, letting the bike come to a steady stop in silence. The place she was to watch every night is vital to the Fortuna superiors. Indeed, the so-called 'archive' held more than just documents. As Francesca took off her helmet and gloves, she took a deep breath, taking in the cool air and doing an expeditious look around to ensure she was solitary, before heading down into the basement where the treasures were located. Francesca reached into her side pocket and took out a minuscule silver key for the first door leading to the archive tunnel and inserted it into the old, parasite-eaten wooden door. Gradually, the pitch black darkness took her over. She cautiously takes out her small torch from her breast pocket of her jacket before she is able to reach the lights once inside the main hall. With a sigh after the five seconds of tension, came a noise only her ears could pick up.

Footsteps. Slow but evidently long strides. Most likely male.

'Demons…', the white-clad sentinel understood. Before taking another step, Francesca took hold of her sword with her right hand whilst starting to approach the footsteps slowly.

'_Guess this won't be my typical night shift in Fortuna'_


	3. Chapter 2

Author's Note:

Hello again, dear readers!

Work is slow, so decided to write up the next chapter whilst pretending to look busy. I will try and not go crazy with the time jumps – don't want any confusion! I'm not sure if this chapter seems to drag a bit too much or not, but I guess it's better than no chapters at all. Again, I do apologise if there happen to be typos and whatnot.

Disclaimer: I do not anything other than my OCs. Everything else rightfully belongs to Capcom.

Chapter 2

July 17th 2019, 19:00pm

Nico leaned far back in her chair with her feet resting on top of the garden table, crunching on a cracker in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She was reading a weekly magazine whilst listening to the stereo she dug out of a market sale a few weeks back. '_This place needs more mood tunes'_, she would say to Nero and Kyrie. Such tunes consisting of a mixture of jazz and heavy rock. Quite the contrast.

Nero was lying on the cool grass, enjoying the gentle evening sun heat, his arms cushioning his head and his eyes closed. After a long day of minion demon slaying, he felt like this is a perfect moment he deserved. Kyrie meanwhile, had just finished her newly-found full-time job at the orphanage, now preparing a cool beverage for herself and 'the kids in the garden'.

With her mouth dry and full of cracker crumbs, Nico mumbled to Nero "I wunfur, hoo if yoor moffur?"

"What…?" Nero responded, giving Nero a dirty and confused expression.

After about a minute of pretentious chewing from Nico in response, she repeated: "I wonder who yo' mama is. Never given it a proper thought, dude. Seriously though. Who would your dad even _do_? I mean come on – the man tore off yo' arm, nearly damn killed yo' uncle and you, and can apparently dance Singing in the Rain _whilst kicking demon ass_!"

"You know, Nico, sometimes you just say the most weird shit…"Nero replied, sighing.

"Whaaaat? C'mon, don't tell me you at least didn't give it a thought!" Nico sat up in surprise to Nero's apparently careless attitude.

"I don't know. The other kids at the orphanage told me my mom was...well…you know" followed a melancholier reply from the young devil hunter.

"Huh...doubt that's true, tough guy" Nico winked at Nero, standing up and walking off to the garage again.

'_This is gonna be an interesting piece of homework'_, Nico smiled to herself.

January 16th 1993, 3:16pm

Francesca was cautiously flicking through yet another rather unexciting document. Architecture of Fortuna – whilst a hobby worth taking for most, sadly never piqued her interest. The large window she leaned against shielded her from the cold January air. Caught in a moment of daydreaming, her New Year's was a quiet one, like every other year. She didn't have many friends or any familial folks – the only friends she considered close was Sabina and the orphanage children. There seemed to be a peculiar aura of sagacity seeping from those kids that kept Francesca drawn and close to them. She was their light of hope, although they all were well-looked after.

After dismissing her brief moment of melancholy, she adjusted her round glasses perked delicately on her nose once more and putting the leather-clad file on top of the other 287 files ready to be archived in Fortuna's undisclosed underground vault. Francesca's love for prose and poetry was unquestioned, however. She does not have often a moment at work to read through such works, because her role was more elaborate – to examine through individual archive materials and produce Fortuna reports which are then to be sent to Agnus. Ever since she was a child, she would sneak into the library and take out whatever book she ceased at the night before, afore putting it back as if no-one has physically contacted it. One night, however, fortune was not on her side, and she was caught, thanks to a vase stood on the edge that she knocked over and alerted Sabina, the keyholder and guardian of the archive complex. Rather than reporting her, Sabina offered her the chance to learn to work and live with her, in exchange of Francesca being given access to proximately all the books.

Rapid hops approached Francesca as one of the Fortuna orphanage children, Antonia, came bouncing towards the adolescent woman.

"Miss, miss! I found the last volume all by myself! Are you pleased, miss? Please be proud! I've been good this week, haven't I?" The petite girl softly whispered, as she held the Little Mermaid proudly above her head, as if holding a trophy.

"Oh my, look at you! All by yourself? What a treasure hunter you will one day become!" Francesca let out a sizably voluminous smile and cupped the girl's cheeks and stroked a minute part of her long, curly hair.

"Like in Treasure Island?" She asked, her big brown eyes glistening with innocent excitement.

"Exactly like Treasure Island. Maybe one day you will find authentic treasure, you never know. We are also an island, after all." Francesca answered, kneeling to match the girl's height.

She was never one of dominance, which is why she was so good with children - they found her relatable with her 'questionable' efforts at being goofy whilst utilizing her warm voice to comfort their solitude and need to be loved. Every weekend, she would come to the orphanage and conduct literature and English language edifications with the orphans, availing them in any way she could. She was there once. She kens what it's relish to feel alone, unwanted and lost. And she does not want any of them to feel the same way she did. Many even asked her to adopt them. Once, she even nearly did. But for one, she was too young. Only 20 years old, she was only beginning to establish herself within Fortuna – she attended mass very week, and embraces her faith in Sparda. Albeit he is long gone, Sanctus regularly reminds Fortuna's citizens of the deity saving humanity before falling in love with a beautiful adolescent mortal priestess. But the demons just keep coming regardless, and as of lately, they have been increasing in numbers. Consequently, Francesca must protect everyone as best as she could, even if it'd mean giving up her own life. After all, there is nothing else worth living for to her anyway.

After quickly making some braids on Antonia's hair, which Francesca calls 'their weekly ritual', stood back up and asked her "Hey, why don't you give this to Sabina for approval? I'll give you extra time to read it. And then maybe, I will tell you more stories about Sparda, whaddaya say?"

"Really?"

"Of course! As long as you deport yourself like always, deal?", Francesca winks, holding out her pinkie.

"I promise, miss" Antonia replied, pinkie swearing and hopping off again to Sabina's office and skipping back out, clutching the book close to her chest, giving Francesca a swift final wave before the cumbersomely hefty door closed abaft her. Whilst a mischievous girl, Antonia never intends to cause anyone any harm, other than the pain of the remote inconvenience of washing off some paint from their attire or drying up after being shot at with a water gun.

"Never ceases to cheer me right up, that little rascal" spoke a high-pitched and raspy voice, as Sabina walked out of her office, folding her arms and leaning against the door frame. The middle-aged woman was of a miniature stature, with short limbs and skinny frame and dark brown hair with deep-set green eyes. Her glasses would more often be perched on her head than her nose – Francesca would remind her often to put them back down when examining documents. Whilst her glasses habit was dubious at best, her mother-like demeanour is unsurpassed, coupled with her unending generosity and patience, whilst at the same time being of a character not to be meddled with, should one be unmindful enough to do so. Francesca imagined her to have been profoundly comely when she was adolescent – her husband is a lucky man anyhow. She still is beautiful, with always well-kept hair and a verbally competent manner. Her femininity shone through ever since Francesca came crashing into her life.

"Can't believe she's back at the orphanage…she'd be mine if I had the nerve." Francesca sighed, hanging her head low in shame and folding her arms in a virtually defensive stance. "She deserves the best of what humanity has, not douche parents or demonic attacks on the streets…".

"Oh, don't be so melancholy, Fran." Sabina tutted in irritation. "Her time will come, like yours did with me. Good things will come to the likes of her – she deserves it. So, don't go hanging your head like that and don't forget about the mass tonight. We'll have a glass of wine after, alright?" She spoke with a more rigorous undertone, hoisting Francesca's chin with her minute fingers.

"I raised you to be better than that, and you know it. Now, let's finish the remaining docs, shall we?" Sabina added.

"You're right. Work is a good distraction, I guess. I just wish I could be more, Sabina. Those demons. They're invading Fortuna in increasingly unsustainable numbers. I wish I had more power…"Francesca tentatively replied, knowing already the response awaiting her from Sabina.

"You are doing more than necessary already! Giving hope to the hopeless is a hell of a good deed, Fran. Sparda did the same." The minute woman placed her hand on Fran's shoulder for comfort and began to walk back into her large office. Francesca proceeded to do the same.

For two final hours in the tranquil silence, the blonde finished the last few documents before placing the pile carefully into a special preservation box, ready for their final delivery to the underground archive within Fortuna Castle's walls. Giving a final glance at the mantle clock placed on her personal work desk, Francesca decides to get ready for the weekly mass. Before the event, she put on her mass 'uniform' which included a white hood – a requirement to wear when inside the holy cathedral. Today, she was wearing a crimson wool fleece and a long pleated silk skirt of the same colour. Underneath, she wore brown knee-length heeled boots. Modest and conservative – Francesca's usual style.

She felt like she needed some fresh air anyway, as she checked herself in the mirror one final time before heading out to mass. The air was cool, but pleasant, stroking her cheeks as everyone else was walking towards the main cathedral. Suddenly, Francesca felt a shiver run down her spine and the hairs on her body stand up. An almost static feeling of energy seeped through as she stopped for a moment. _Probably pre-mass nerves as usual_, she though to herself. Clutching her left hand in her right to contain herself, she marched on in determination. Nothing will ruin the rest of her day.

The mass itself was an event Francesca looked forward to. Sanctus told them the inspirational stories of other legendary demons who fought alongside Sparda, as well as announcing the new Order of the Sword commanders and officers, honouring their new duties and congratulating them on their bravery and promotions. Standing among them, was a young female. She was of medium but evidently athletic build, with her hair cascading down her face under her Order hood. She was rather fidgety, evident by her subtle but noticeable to Francesca's eyes eye movements. Then, as everyone gave them a standing ovation, the two women's' eyes suddenly meet for what seemed like an hour. Perhaps of admiration, a coincidental accident, or just a distraction. The olive-skinned woman's face tensed up as she turned her head forward again, staring at the back doors to regain focus.

_My bro would ask you out, for sure_, the commander joked to herself.

After a ten-minute operatic performance by the lead choir singer, the mass was over. By then, Francesca realised that she was more exhausted than initially thought, and thus was now eager to just go home and sleep. After a brief departure moment with Sabina as she headed home as well to her loving husband, Francesca followed the crowd down the main street. Remembering the soldier's face again as she slowly strolled, she noticed a figure walking the opposite direction not far from her. The presumably tall male figure was different to everyone else. He wore a long, brown cloak, covering every inch of him except the bottom half of his pale face. His head was tilted low, evidently avoiding unwanted attention. His pace was slow, but with purpose. Like a man walking through a pristine garden. Her eyes were locked on as she slowed down to a halt, continuing eyeing him as he continued to walk on, not noticing her rude behaviour.

Francesca snapped back into reality as the man disappeared amongst the crowds. She was tempted to follow – but that may well be the worst decision of her life. The man may be dangerous – a warning she was too familiar with as Sanctus would remind his people at every mass. He has every intention of keeping Fortuna isolated for the safety of its inhabitants. Although she did not see any weapon on him, the cloak may well be the reason behind that. Or maybe he's just a visitor.

Shutting the door to her apartment, Francesca let out a sigh of relief as she threw her keys onto the shelf and dropped onto her bed face first. Yep, she was exhausted. A long hot shower was in order, and a glass of wine Sabina forgot to arrange. She was always forgetful with things like this. Smirking, she poured herself a small glass and took a sip as she prepared a bath instead.

The hot water comforted her as she lay, with soft music played by her faithful vinyl player in the living room. She liked to keep the bathroom door slightly ajar as she tapped her fingers to the music beat and softly singing to the familiar melody, closing her heavy eyelids as she fell into deep relaxation. Her transition to sleep was slow as she drifted off deeper, not minding doing so. She felt her head tilt more downward as the music began to fade and the man's face forming in her imagination.

"Welcome stranger to this place, where joy doth sit on every bough…" Francesca quietly mouthed, falling into a slumber.

Meanwhile…

The clad young man paced slowly towards the large monument towering over him, with his treasured father's keepsake in a tight grip of his left hand. Looking up, the figure took in the cool night air as the moon's reflection on the pavement's wet surface lit up his face.

'_Strange, no guards in this area, despite this being an enormous coffer of valuable archives and documents'_, the man thought to himself. Perhaps even a source of power. Maybe finally he will have the chance to avenge his mother's brutal murder all those years ago and end his rivalry with his younger brother. '_And that girl'_, he remembered. How dare she stare at the Son of Sparda with such undignified eyes? She will regret doing that if he sees her again.

A right cold hand took hold of the door's handle and turned. Perhaps his venture to this isolated city will be worth it.


	4. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Here's chapter 3 for you all Thank you so much for the reviews and follows! This chapter feels a bit slow-paced, but I'll do my best to pick up the pace in the forthcoming chapters. Hope you're enjoying the story so far!

Disclaimer: I do not claim any ownership over DMC, or anything Capcom-related.

_His face is fair as heav'n_

_When springing buds unfold;_

_O why to him was't giv'n_

_Whose heart is wintry cold?_

_His breast is love's all-worshipp'd tomb,_

_Where all love's pilgrims come._

'_My silks and fine array'_

_William Blake_

Air. She needs air. But there is none as she kept gasping, attempting to produce a sound that did not travel through the space. The stench of only what she could describe as blood, soil and smoke filled her nose as she lay face down, her arms being held stretched out behind her back with one foot pressing down onto her back, increasing pressure. Voices turned into snarls and growls, metal clanging and the last remaining screams fall into more silence – the final mark of absolute defeat. Then, she felt excruciating pain that not even the demons have nightmares of. She let out a piercing scream that was deafening to all ears across the battlefield, now filled with an atmosphere of pure hopelessness and sin. Her trusted weapon lay just next to her left cheek as she stared at it whilst still screaming, as if being looked at in shame and disappointment. The thunder clapped and the raindrops cold on her face and neck as with one final pull of her arms and a press from the foot…

Francesca jolted straight up from her bath, now more wet from her sweat than the long-ago evaporated and now cold water from her bath. Her heart has never been beating faster than when she was a child.

"The hell…?"She managed to whisper with a whimper, as inexplicable tears began to build behind her eyes and a lump forming in her throat. She put her head in her hands as she tried to make sense of her surroundings and get back to reality.

"Just a dream, Fran..a very vivid dream. You're fine, you're safe, you're still here…"she comforted herself. Sabina would often say this to her when she was little. She hasn't had these dreams for nearly twenty years. Why now do they have to come back? Recurring dreams are commonplace amongst people, but these can't be normal. They're too bright, too _real_. Slowly, she lifted herself up by grabbing onto the edges of her bath and pushing off from it. Wrapping a towel around herself, she stood in front of the steamed mirror and ran her palm across it, cleaning it to check on herself. Splashing fresh cool water on her face, she stared at her reflection to assess any damage. Her eyes are blood-shot and tired, and her skin red from the tense nightmare. She looked like she needed a week's worth of more sleep. But strangely, at the same time, she felt a burst of energy she hasn't felt in years. She can feel her heart rate increase at the rate of every second, her muscles in her body burning. The pain she felt in her nightmare felt so real, she swears she can feel something on her shoulder blades and mid-spine.

Blinking a few times, she exited her bathroom to put on an oversized white shirt and wool tracksuits. Francesca proceeded to turn off the record player, its needle silently scraping the central point of the vinyl. All she needed now was to just lie down and rest. Not necessarily sleep, but rest. The image of that man just could not escape her mind. No one else seemed to notice or indeed care for him, but something in her just drew her in.

"Oh, come on girl, he's just a guy. Who wore a cloak…who walked opposite literally everyone else…and I'm now talking to myself" the archivist muttered as she lay on her bed with hands on her stomach. She must know more. There must be some correlation between all this. As soon as she is exposed to a demonic presence, the nightmares start again. What if that 'guy' was a demon? What is he looking for? He didn't show any intention of harming Fortuna's citizens – but what if that's only for now? She must investigate this. She had no idea how or even why, but she felt an urge. Something just didn't feel quite right.

Feeling energised once again, she made the decision of taking a walk at Fortuna's market. Her excuse was the need to stock up her fridge anyway. Putting on some last minute Fortuna dress and hooded trench coat, she parted with her apartment once more. Fortuna's streets and marketplace was in its usual late evening buzz post-mass. The people like to let out their reserved energy on negotiating fruit prices and give the kids a good opportunity to tire themselves out before bedtime. Francesca loved it. She felt safe, her spirits lifted from the vivacity.

Meanwhile, Megaera, or to be precise, _Commander_ Megaera (although almost everyone called her Meg), was swirling her whisky glass whilst sat behind one of the few Fortuna bars, listening to the musical hum and late night buzz of her fellow soldiers, their banter almost deafening as the alcohol hit their bloodstream. She sat quietly, with a glare on her face, repetitively looking around for her younger brother. Everyone was celebrating whatever ranks they were now, whether they were promoted or not. It's been a pretty good year for Fortuna's military. Whilst the demons keep coming, there were minimal casualties, and Sanctus was evidently pleased with the progress and continuous faith in Sparda.

"Faithful soldier, why do you frown?" asked the bartender, polishing a glass and cocking his head at her. Meg admired him as a friend and almost as a moral mentor. His name was Elias. A medium build man in his mid-40s. He was a simple man, with a wife and two children. His voice was soft spoken but carried an authority – a necessary trait if you want to run a bar. He was of medium height and had a warm glow in his eyes, showing kindness to those he cares about. A good man who had earned his respect throughout the years from his colleagues and customers.

"Waiting for my long lost brother, you seen him? Probably found himself another date, no doubt." Meg responded with a sarcastic undertone, rolling her eyes whilst taking her last full drink of her whisky before thumping the glass on the bar top. She always had trouble controlling her strength and temper at the best of times.

"Jeez, Meg. What's wrong with that? He's young and free, you should be too. This is unlike you, sweetie." Elias pushed Meg's head back up with is finger to the top of her head. "Go on, head to the market - I'll keep a lookout for him."

As Meg proceeded to head out, she was immediately stopped by Elijah, another soldier promoted just a bit later after her own. He was intoxicated, but not completely out of it. He wrapped one of his arms around her as a friendly gesture – they were close; thus no self-defence manoeuvres were required.

"Where do you think you're going? You're missing the fun!" He spoke loudly over the music into her ear.

"Looks like you ain't missing a beat! You seen my douchy brother? Shoulda been here thirty minutes ago!" She loudly replied back, leaning back into his arm.

"I think I saw him, but maybe not. Actually, I wanted to ask you something. What're you doing tomorrow after?"

"Elijah, I can't. Familial and new job role commitments, you know. Sorry pal, another time. Keep your drinking levels to a minimum, you hear me? I don't want no pukes tomorrow!" Meg interrupted him to keep him in check. He was a good-looking guy, no doubt, but was just not her type. He always tried too hard to please her. She showed him a peace out sign as she opened the door, leaving him standing alone again, with a beer bottle in one hand, sighing before turning around and heading back to the group.

The whisky certainly took a slight toll on her vision – she felt unusually light-headed. '_Definitely stay away from the drinks_, _commander'_, the young soldier reminded herself, before taking a deep breath of the winter air and buttoning up her long white new Order of the Sword trench coat.

The sun began to settle and Francesca finally had the chance to stop shielding her eyes from it, eyeing now the groceries better. The buzz began to settle down as people began heading home to shield themselves from the cold. The market was still busy, but the atmosphere slowly began to shift. Francesca smirked to herself in relief – such an exposure to people was not her daily preference. Which is why she is so grateful to Sabina and her husband Josh's patience with her working at the library and its archives after many years of turmoil. Indeed, Sabina, Josh and Antonia were the only people she really knows and considers family.

Then, amidst the noise, Francesca's heart abruptly changed pace. Her breaths became hasty as the air around her began to feel hot, engulfing her body. There was a lump in her throat and a knot in her stomach as a strange noise can be heard from the other end of the marketplace. Everything began to move in slow motion as a large deformed figure came charging at the people of Fortuna. A repulsive snicker came from the figure as screams of the inhabitants began to deafen Francesca. She could not move. Her muscles were all locked in place as her eyes widened in horror. '_No, not this again. Not now.'_, she could only think. She repeated this over and over in her head. Then the blood came. Splashing across the ancient walls as the figure slashed with vast force. The metallic smell can be sensed from here. As she snapped back into reality, she instinctively felt the urge to help the others escape while they can. Seeing the first family of three she briefly knows from previous mass interactions, and grabbed the father's and child's arms pulling them to a small antiques store before running for the mother and tagging her to follow suit.

"Stay here, don't move! I'll get the others!" Francesca spoke, already breathless.

The father responded, standing in front of the woman. "No, you'll get killed out there…"

"I can't let this happen again, so stay here, sir!" she interrupted before opening the store's door again and running back out.

More people desperately pushed themselves out and in each other's way into any building with a door, whether it was locked or not. The snarl from the figure grew louder as it was quickly beginning to reduce the distance between it and Francesca. It resembled a heavily deformed clown, with enormous rusty blades attached to its 'arms'. Its 'legs' both had begs, and whilst walking it was heavily unbalanced, its leaps and jumps made it as deadly as it was, using its momentum to slash the humans to pieces. It glanced at the young woman and she realised just the immense danger she found herself in. Unable to do anything but to accept her fate, she could only shield her face with her arms and shut her eyes.

But before the revolting demonic entity could finish her off with a single swipe of its blades, came a thump, followed by silence. Opening her eyes in confusion, a feeling of disbelief followed as a long, luminous blade was inches away from her neck. The blade was piercing through the demon's centre and a female voice with a heavy Australian accent followed:

"You better run before the next stab will reach yo face, dear". Francesca's mouth fell open, her body still paralysed from shock and confusion. The female was directly behind the demon, as she twisted the blade further through the demon, as it shrieked in pain. As she took the blade out, the demon took the opportunity to attempt at slicing the fighter. But the soldier simply arched herself backwards, whilst still standing on the same spot. Francesca was able to see her face, illuminated by the last remaining rays of the evening sun. Her skin was of an olive shade, with freckles covering all of it. Her hair was extremely curly, tied into a loose ponytail (doubt she can do more than that with that type of hair). Her eyes were large on her round face, brown and expressive, accompanied by a smaller than average nose and full rounded lips. Her body build was rather petite, but athletic regardless. She was still wearing her ceremonial Order of the Sword uniform, which consisted of a long white trench coat, black leather leggings and black low-heeled boots. Practical but stylish. It then dawned on her that it was the same woman she spotted at the earlier mass. What a strange coincidence. And not one she was going to complain about.

"Hey, you hear me? Move yo ass outta here!". Francesca blinked twice and before she could finally run for it, a hand grabbed her by her forearm and quickly dragged her behind one of the market stalls.

"Do as the lady says, lass" A male voice commanded her. Francesca built up enough courage to speak.

"What's happening soldier? This demon is different." She asked the man, who somehow resembled the female soldier, with similar olive skin and large brown eyes. A handsome young man with neatly combed black hair that was wavy, but not as curly as hers.

"Don't worry about those, we got it" His accent was also what sounded like Australian. Are they siblings? He winked at her, before heading out. Before he could let go of her arm, she grasped him again, explaining to him that simply because she is a mere weak civilian, doesn't mean she doesn't have the right to know what's going on, especially as a Fortuna archivist.

"Proves my point further, so stay here! Trust me, this is out of everyone's hands." His voice was more authoritative now, his brow furrowed as he ran back out as he unsheathed his motor-powered blade to assist his colleague and (presumably) kin.

"You're late, Bastian! Better make this one quick, or you owe me a whisky glass!" Meg yelled at her brother, as the harmoniously slashed and dashed around the lone demon, gracefully using all of the environment to their advantage, surrounding the demon, before finishing it with the final blows of amputating it limb by limb, before Meg finally decapitated it with a roar of satisfaction as hay, black slime and smoke came oozing from the demon, deflating it before it evaporated into the cool air. They both simultaneously sheathed their swords, surrounded by silence once more.

"I don't owe you shit this time, sis" The brother playfully replied, walking off into the distance, with his hands behind his head as he stretched. He was used to such demons, so to him, this was not a big deal. Meg glanced back at the shocked citizens, looking for the strange woman who was staring at her so deeply just mere seconds ago. She was strangely intrigued by her; something about her that just seemed out of place. But not in a bad way – she found comfort in her eyes, somehow. Inner wisdom that she hasn't seen ever since all of her and Bastian's folks died back in Adelaide. It would be nice to meet her (away from demons, of course).

Francesca began to finalise processing what happened about five minutes ago as she paced quickly back to her apartment, hands still trembling. She hadn't managed to thank the two soldiers who saved not only her, but the other civilians. The market was all drenched in blood – a mess not to be beckoned with. The sigh of so much of it made her sick – god, all of those people! Such monsters must be eradicated. And that means more research, more data, more reading. '_Good'_, she thought. An excuse for her to work overtime, at last.

Meanwhile, the cloaked figure stood on top of the rooftops of Fortuna, watching the sun finally set behind the horizon, whilst eyeing the two soldiers make their way back to Fortuna castle, chatting away. He takes his hood off, as there are no spectators here. His stoic expression remained stoic, as he narrowed his steel-grey eyes. He recalled the earlier brief mid-battle moment between the two women earlier – something was indeed odd about that human. Perhaps he should stay here a bit longer than initially planned. Perhaps she could be a chance for the power he so craves.


	5. Chapter 4

Author's Note:

Apologies for such a delay! It's been a crazy few weeks, and I wasn't sure how to pace this chapter and how to develop its characters further, so had to go back and forth multiple times. Hope it works out for you all! I apologise in advance for any errors – some if it I had to rush a little.

Disclaimer:

As usual, I do not claim any ownership over DMC, or anything Capcom-related. All belongs to Capcom.

**Chapter 4**

July 18th 2019, 9:35am

Nico speedily burrowed through all of the documents she managed to find after the first search organised by her and Nero. Weapon records, monument building archives, and anything on residents of Fortuna.

Nope, nothing.

"Shit…" Nico muttered as she lit another cigarette, making sure none of its ash has any contact with the paper. She wasn't really surprised – Fortuna is a very closed-off city, and its authorities keep such documents close to their chest.

"Ugh, perhaps might just as well. Gotta do my puppy eyes it is!" Nico stood up, pushing all of the papers to one side of her work desk.

Nero was on another demon-hunting assignment, this time without her. '_I need some air without your ciggies'_, he said. Rolling her eyes at the recollection, she takes out her phone from her pocket and dials. No answer, thus leaves a quick and sassy voicemail instead for him to discover after the usual demon ass-kicking.

'_This persuasion thing will be a tricky one'_, Nico smirked.

_January 18__th__, 1993, 8:30am _

The clad man was once again walking along another narrow alleyway, relishing the tranquillity of Fortuna. After that interesting demon encounter, he knew that more were to come in the following days. That did not concern him, however. He was here to investigate the people's unique interest and apparent infatuation with Sparda. Indeed, their beliefs were, in a way, justified. Long ago, Sparda resided in this town and saved its inhabitants from a massive demonic attack. But he was sure that there was more to this story. That woman, he has seen her walk to the archive building every day – either a keen reader or a worker.

"She may be very useful to me, if I am correct", he breathed as he lifted his head up, feeling a sudden gush of wind, as black dust congregated and rapidly formed a ghost-like demonic presence.

"Don't you pathetic creatures know that you are meeting death before you? You shall regret ever being born…" He hissed as he narrowed his eyes whilst the demon approached him, hovering slowly, its gaze fixated on him. Suddenly, it darted towards him in a blink of an eye, revealing its bladed tail as it aimed at the man in blue. But before the bladed could come into contact with mortal flesh, the man in blue was gone before the demon's red eyes as it paused for a moment as it slowly began to turn around. The man was now directly behind it, sighing with a disappointed 'hmph' before the revolting ghost-like demon dispersed into a dozen pieces before realising it was dissolving into nothing as the man sheathed his sword in synchronisation.

He stood up straight again and turned, eyeing the archive building standing tall amongst the other residencies on the other side of the narrow and dark alleyway. Whilst everyone was at mass, this was the perfect opportunity for him to have the place to himself without anyone bothering him.

He paced non-hurriedly to the location, opening the large wooden door at the back of the building to avoid any unwanted attention, his brown cloak aiding him. Once inside, he found himself in a large round room with several globes, rolled up papers and endless piles of books. The walls were all intricately decorated with Fortuna's designs, paved with gold and marble. Against one of the walls near a window, there was a large desk made of a dark oak that was barely visible under the masses of paperwork, pens, fabric gloves and magnifying lenses. There were large round lamps for closer examinations on it; perfect for investigating the clearly treasured papers. He approached the desk closer and picked up one of the papers, outlining the brief history of a particular neighbourhood within Fortuna. He peered closer: '_1345 AD'_ was written in very faint ink on the stained brown piece of paper. Other papers included old newspaper clippings, dating back to the early 20th century, photographs of citizens and diary accounts of 'the outside world', as the locals like to call land outside of Fortuna.

Deciding not to waste any more time, he stepped towards the door leading to the library, opening it slowly as it creaked. But no response. The building was completely empty. Smirking, the man clad in blue walked along the endless rows of bookshelves, eyeing their titles and ages whilst running his long, elegant fingers along their spines. After several minutes of pondering over the shelves and taking in the scent of old books, he noticed an ajar door to another small office, complete with a desk, the usual piles of papers, but accompanied by one unusual feature; photographs of a human who seemed familiar. He walked calmly to the desk, picking up the picture to have a closer inspection. It was a portrait of three individuals; a petite, brown haired woman with large framed glasses, a taller man with a stubble and an expression of delight. But the woman stood in the centre, accompanied with both of their arms on her shoulders, caught his attention. She had a heart-shaped face, platinum blonde hair and a delicate smile imprinted on her face. She looked young, around his age. She must be one of the workers here currently at mass.

"How convenient…" Smirking, he held the picture for a few seconds before placing it back. Before he could turn back and head back to the city, he noticed a peculiar dark leather covered book, titled 'Fall of the ancient ones' in embossed and faded smudged ink. Mass typically lasted for about two hours, giving him time to read the first few pages at least. Upon opening it up, there were boundless post-it notes, clipped pieces of paper, diagrams, scribbles and sketches. Everything was stuck in various angles, desperately clinging to the worn pages. No page was left bare. Some notes towards the last few pages look rather recent. This was not a book, nor a diary, he concluded. It was an obsessive project.

Francesca made a solemn promise to disclose any issues and nightmares she encounters during her sleep to Sabina. But nowadays, she has begun to break that promise more and more. She can't seem to shake the feeling that everything that's been happening to her recently is somehow connected. The demons, the library, the encounter with the two soldiers, and the same nightmare, over and over. She struggled to sleep the following night. She snacked, watched the televised broadcast of the immediate aftermath, then read some more before tiring herself out and squeezing in three hours of tossing and turning in her bedsheets. No record players were turned on that evening – she needs the silence; a time to think and recollect her thoughts before another mass and then the usual work.

After getting herself ready same as always and putting on her brown pleated skirt and oversized jumper, her usual dull hood that was compulsory for all non-military personnel, Francesca made it out in the early hours of the morning. She already noticed the difference in atmosphere – everyone was on edge, walking quickly, the windows are shut, shops closed, accompanied only by the distant coo from a coocoo bird, probably from Fortuna's nearby Mitis Forest. Francesca however, didn't feel in danger. On the contrary, the closer to the cathedral she walked, the safer and more energised she began to feel. '_Maybe it's just the shock still'_, a thought lingered in her head as she approached the large building, entering through the back door to avoid any attention she may have received already. A wide array of thoughts were scattering through her mind.

Ever since she saw those new faces, she felt an unusual jolt of excitement. Before this, ever since she can remember, she never saw any new faces outside Fortuna, due to its strict tourism laws. For the first time, she realised that she was bored. Bored of the same people, the same prayers and deity everyone worshipped, the same daily routine, the clothes, all of it. She wanted to know more of the outside. That female soldier she saw – despite being mostly hidden by her own hood, seemed extremely familiar to her, however.

Staring down at the floor as she walked alongside the rest of the crowd towards the cathedral, a familiar voice called her name. Turning her head, she felt a smile come back to her as Sabina and her husband Chester caught up with her, with Sabina clutching at her chest as usual. Those cigarettes sure took a toll on her, despite quitting four years ago.

"You're definitely gonna give me a hard time sooner or later, Fran" she touched Francesca's shoulder in admiration. Chester was his usual neatly-presented self, a warm smile on his face, barely hidden under his white hood.

"Well, that's in retaliation of you giving me a hard time at work" the young woman smirked, putting her hand on top of Sabina's.

"Am I the only one who has a bad feeling about the next few days…? You've been acting a little weird, daughter. And when that happens, it usually means bad news on the way" Chester sighed as he lovingly lifted her chin to look at him before he took hold of both of Fran's hands.

"Guys, don't. A lot has happened, okay?" Fran responded with irritation. Her parents have grown used to this type of response. "The nightmares got worse in the past few days. And those two soldiers, they remind me of…never mind" She tried to shake it off, praying that the two will dismiss it, or at least 'leave it to later'. She felt it was too soon for her to speak of what happened.

"Well, perhaps you should miss this one mass for once? We'll cover for you." The older woman whispered. "Cut yourself some slack and maybe do something…productive…" Lowering her head down in doubt, before being able to protest, Sabina pushed her the opposite way, urging her to go back to work at least and perhaps recover by distracting herself. Ever since she was little, Sabina and Chester were both familiar with her post-trauma habits and memory complications. All those sleepless nights, the Order's pleas of her 'dangerous nature' and their resistance to them were worth it. They proved them all wrong by raising a daughter whilst not known by many, is now loved by the few who do.

She had no choice but to obey; she owes them that. Taking one final glance as they took each other's hands like a scene from one of the few romance films she had the unique opportunity to see, Francesca smiled at the pleasant sight of this subtle public display of affection. Significant others have never been a priority of hers. She has had the few occasional admirers now and then, but to lay in someone's arms has been nothing but a dream to her - an image she can't even reconstruct due to her total lack of any physical experience of such a notion. Her priority was her work, and her recent research into those 'Fallen ones'.

To avoid attention and suspicion, she decides to take the alleyway she used when she was little, walking through her childhood memories as her heels clacked, her fingers brushing along the antique walls. The streets soon fell silent as she took a deep breath, enjoying the rebellious act she is committing. Whilst an arrest will not be made for her desertion of mass, she nevertheless felt an abrupt impulse of guilt building in her stomach. This was by far the most adventure she has had in a very long time. She smiled to herself, taking off her hood as she steadily approached her work's gates.

Meg and Bastian walked side by side along the empty high street, keeping an eye out for any 'funny demon business'. It was their day shift; thus, mass was out of the question.

"So, come on, tell me. How do you know this girl?" The brother asked, jumping up and down to warm himself up in the January air.

"What are you talking about?" his fiery sister asked casually, avoiding eye contact. But he can read her like a book. He gave her a glance that she can feel without even looking. He was always known for his not-so-subtle body language.

"We were childhood friends, before you and I were sent out to Australia" Meg responded, giving him a strange look in response to his jumping. Indicating him to stop. "We were in the same class, and our friendship was closely guarded. It's been nearly ten years now." She sighed, almost contemplating the choice she and her brother made. Not as if they had much choice, anyway. The Order back in those days encouraged some of its young apprentices to 'train outside the usual scope in order to adapt to various dire situations'. But after a few years, the project was scrapped, and the soldiers were recently sent back to Fortuna. The threat of the spread of secrets overweighed the advantages. Meg was disappointed, but at the same time, relieved. She has grown accustomed to Fortuna in the first eleven years of her life, despite developing a subtle yet distinctive Australian accent that is now imprinted. Her brother, meanwhile, has not.

"Soooo I have a sister who have kept a possibly significant friendship concealed from me for how long, ten years?" Bastian raised an eyebrow, his pitch raised in suspicion.

"Look, it was a long time ago, brother. She's doing well on her own now. Hell, it's for the best anyway. I nearly screwed her life up. She deserves better." She paused for thought.

"What do you mean 'screwed her up'…? Meg, what happened that night? I remember your black eye, but no-one ever told me what happened, not even you. That chick had something to do with it, didn't she?" A pause. "Did she beat you up or something?"

"Jeez, Bastian, no! We were young and stupid. We wanted to see the archives, and we got busted. That's all." Meg looked down in shame, like a little child after admitting mischief. With a sigh, the brother took Megaera's hands in his.

"Sis, we all do stupid shit. I mean, you _are_ a stupid shit, but that's not the point." The chuckled in unison. "By what I saw her doing that evening, she doesn't seem to be the type to hold grudges. Now c'mon, let's blow up this joint." Letting go of her hands, the again continued their patrol, hands now clasping at their sword handles; the pair have always been ready for a fight.

Francesca made it to her workplace building, dangling her keys before entering. Her face was caressed by a pleasant and familiar warmth still present from the fireplace on the other side of the entrance hall. Sabina must've forgot to put it out. Despite the woman's talents in writing and investigative work, her memory in terms of everyday chores 'needed work'. They were lucky a fire hasn't broken out after all these years.

Taking off her hood, she made her climb up on the spiral staircase leading up to the office and lab corridor. She walked along the long and narrow corridor, feet muffled by the crimson carpet. She was silent, which she used as an advantage to scare Sabina when she was a child. Her office was on the other side of the hallway, opening it and stepping inside. Picking the old, tattered book from her desk covered inside with endless notes and scribbles, she smiled to herself.

"Right where I left you" Francesca quietly muttered as she put it back down, before noticing something different on the corner of her eye. Her family photograph had less dust on it than usual.

"Not where I left you, however" she frowned.

No-one cleans her own desk but her, and she remembers it having more dust around the edges. Her body froze as she realised that she was not alone. Someone has been here recently. Setting the photo back down, slowly turning and quickly running towards her door, locking it. As soon as she was confident with that, she sprinted to the other side of her office and shut her window. No-one goes in or out. Staring at the street outside the building, she closed her curtains, darkening the room that is now only lit by the small desk lamp which is constantly on. She slowly began to step backwards before her back was met with a something warm and solid, causing her to turn around in fright, knocking the books piled on the window sill. Her hands trembled, her eyes widened in terror and her mouth agape. It was the man in blue. The one the Order was after. And he was staring directly at her, his face inches from her own.

Meanwhile….

Somewhere, in a large, dark room deep in Fortuna's catacombs, two voices echo down the cold brick walls.

"Her nightmares are getting more vivid, your grace. We must act now"

"No, it is still too early. We must be sure that she is the one. Besides, we have bigger priorities. That man we saw earlier is no human…we shall investigate him first before handling her. She is no threat yet."

"But sir, if she discovers the truth, she will awaken pre-emptively. Perhaps we should isolate her from her work…"

"No, let her ponder. She will not find much, for much has been lost over the ages. Fortuna is not a place to hold such secrets. You will carry on as usual, and prioritise the man in blue. Perhaps he will help us uncover what we have been seeking all these years. Now go!"

"Right away, your grace"


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Author's Note: Looks like I'll be updated a bit less frequently than originally planned, as I have to continue try and keep the story compelling enough whilst balancing my personal life and also work on a commissioned story. Sorry, everyone! I won't abandon this fic, I promise! I also amended the dates on the first few chapters for continuity purposes. Sorry again… ಥ‿ಥ

To redeem myself, Fran and Vergy finally meet *gasp*

Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this one!

Disclaimer: As usual, I do not claim any ownership over DMC, or anything Capcom-related. All belongs to Capcom.

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_January 18__th__, 1993, 9:35am _

Francesca stood there, her limbs frozen from shock, confusion and sheer terror. Her eyes did not know what to focus on but the man's stoic expression. Yet somehow, she was hypnotised. He was not the everyday being one would come across without turning their head in Fortuna. A few seconds passed, for what seemed like an eternity. Focusing her grey eyes on him once more, being solely alerted by the ticking of the large clock in the office, she took her time to observe his face and attire more carefully as a strategy to attempt to regain focus. His face was immeasurably handsome and young, likely being not much older than her, with his skin pale and smooth, lips neither too full nor too thin, grey blue eyes, and distinctive silver hair, slicked back with only a few strands cascading over his forehead. His jawline was finely chiselled, defined further with his ascot tie and elegant attire consisting of a sky blue long coat, decorated with thorns down its collar, leather vest and leather trousers accompanied by knee-high brown boots. He was towering over her, at least by six inches.

He was so close, Francesca can just about feel his breath, as she slowly began to look away whilst searching for the right words, losing herself again, as her eyes looked down and noticed the blade his left hand was holding. It was a long, slim sword, and, if she remembered correctly from her ancient weapon studies - a Japanese katana. Her eyes widened, presuming he has come here to kill her. Why else would the strange man be in her room, standing in front of her whilst holding a weapon capable of slicing her in half like a knife through butter?

Recomposing herself, she straightened her shoulders and breathed out deeply, only now realising she held her breath for longer than usual. She was surprised she didn't pass out from fear, let alone oxygen deprivation.

"Wha…wher…who are you…?" She build up the courage to ask, standing absolutely motionless, casting her eyes down, ready to accept her fate.

"Hmph. I see your people do not accept many of us outsiders." The man pondered, who remained unmoving, gazing at the defenceless young woman. His voice had a subtle nasal quality to it that possessed an unusually relaxing quality, whilst remaining paradoxically cold.

"No…no we don't, I guess…"she began fiddling with her fingers. "I heard the guards talking about you…the man in blue…" She refused to look up and face him properly from fear.

"What or who I am is hardly relevant." The man dryly replied.

"You're here to kill me, aren't you…?" Francesca's voice began to tremble. There was no way she can escape now. He was too close, able to grab her from either side.

"Hardly. You're not worth my time." He cocked his head to the side, eyeing the diary laid on the desk. Francesca's stomach turned in relief, her vision going cloudy. She was going to pass out if she doesn't focus on something else but her hands. She lifted her heavy head up, her eyes aligning with his. The silence was menacing, until it was interrupted by the distant cathedral's bell tolls.

"Why aren't you at church with everyone else?" he asked, his gaze not leaving hers.

"I…I just wanted to do something different, I guess" She began to steadily regain her confidence. "Something no-one else was doing. Do something else worth living. Something…other than worshiping Sparda for our eventual salvation…do something-

"Sparda. Did you just say 'Sparda'?" He interrupted.

"Yes…he's our guide to salvation…or what we've been taught to believe in, anyway…" She put her hands behind her back, arching her back straight again to regain posture. She was fully conscious again.

"You have doubts?" He narrowed his eyes as he slowly turned towards the desk's direction, taking slow but steady steps closer to it. Francesca was too anxious to stop him. If he takes that diary, she will never be able to find the full story. He begins to flick its pages.

"I…I don't know what I believe… I just want to know the outside world other than that I have read about from the documents and papers. If…you could tell me more about it and Sparda, then…why am I telling you all this…?" She suddenly realised she was speaking to a foreign stranger capable of killing masses. She paused for thought, standing still to not trigger a reaction from him that she may regret.

The man picked up the book, staring at it longingly, before turning his head to face her again. "You wouldn't be interested. You're an educated woman – learn about it yourself."

"I would in a heartbeat, sir. But…we're not allowed beyond Fortuna's mountainous walls and the surrounding sea. Only the select few soldiers can venture out there. Please, tell me anything. In return…"she glanced at the diary "…you may borrow the book for a little while…"

She never negotiated like this – but for the sake of her self-destructive curiosity, she wanted to know the outside world more than this myth of the fallen ones.

"What's your name?" He asked quietly.

"Francesca. But everyone calls me Fran…" The archivist responded, her excitement building as she took one small step forward. Perhaps he wasn't intending on killing her at all. Still, that sword nevertheless intimidated her. She refused to move any further.

"Well then, Francesca. It seems we have ourselves a deal. I will expect more information about the fallen ones and this…'Order of the Sword' from you soon." His composed voice made her quiver. He turned around, striding out of her office.

Fran was unable to process what just happened in front of her. A young man, clad in blue, with the most handsome face she has ever seen, holding a mysterious blade, took the diary and walked away.

"Not anyone's typical morning…" She managed to breathe out, neither in relief nor exhaustion. She had so many questions. Now she prays he will hold his side of the bargain. She forced her legs to move toward her desk, as she sat down and stared at the untouched pile of more documents to examine, as if nothing happened. Perhaps it's for the best, she decided. The last thing she needs right now is further suspicion from anyone. Realising the daunting task laid out by the man combined with the pile now facing her with longing to not be neglected any further, she sighed. This will be an easy mission.

Still, she was at least somewhat happy that her work finally had a true purpose. Regardless of what that man's intentions are, she didn't feel he needs this information for anything other than curiosity, or perhaps to find the truth about himself or someone else he knows or once knew.

Sitting behind her desk to get back to work before she collapses, a loud 'thump!' came from the cupboard located in the far corner of the room. Francesca's head whipped round, standing back up brusquely in reflex. Quiet rustling followed.

Walking slowly and as quietly as she possibly could, she was afraid a demon followed the man into her office. She felt her body begin to feel hot from the sheer fear. She was helpless. With little choice left, her fingers gripped one of the doors' handles and creaked it open.

"Well….you are no demon" the woman commented in sheer relief, as Antonia hoisted herself up, possessing a look of guilt in her eyes. The small girl tucked a small strand of her hair behind her ear, attempting to hide her embarrassment.

"I'm sorry…I just hate going to mass. I just want to read, miss!" she pleaded with a trembling voice.

Francesca sighed, kneeling down and holding out her hand, offering Antonia to step out and bawl in her chest. She held the girl tightly in silence, her stomach turning from relief and fear for her. Had that man killed her…

"That man…what did he want? Did he want to hurt you…?" The girl looked up at Fran.

"Of course not…he was just looking for something. He's gone now. Don't be afraid." Her arms enveloped Antonia again before picking her up, walking out of the office to take her back to the orphanage. There usually was at least one member of staff there. Whilst she would not be hurt in any way there, the archivist's concerns grew for the child. Her curiosity for the man may get her into a dangerous situation.

Whilst the girl was still too young to understand the dire situation Francesca was in with that man a few minutes earlier, she nevertheless wonders if Antonia's further involvement can get her into a dangerous state of affairs. Without saying another word, she finally reached the orphanage and handed Antonia back, promising her more stories about the fallen ones she managed to pick up. Francesca proceeded to head back to the library, processing everything in the meantime.

An hour earlier, during mass…

Sabina and Chester sat patiently as the vicar said the usual prayers, accompanied by the gentle hymns of the choir. An impressive statue of Sparda looked down at his worshippers. Chester looked admirably at his wife, who had her head down, hidden beneath her usual hood and her fingers locked together as she prayed. Her eyes were open, however. That was highly unusual of her to do this, for he was familiar with her habits when she 'gets in the zone', as he likes to say. He nudged her gently on the shoulder with his elbow.

She returned him a tender smile, but she was as easy to read as a book to him, much to Francesca's surprise. His hand took hold of hers, her fingers now interlocking with his instead of her own. For the past few weeks, his wife has been behaving more and more strangely – she became more aggravated, worked longer hours and struggled with sleep. Whilst she had always comforted him by telling him she's okay, every day became harder to believe her denials. He wondered whether he was overanalysing her well-being.

Cocking his head up a little, he blinked slowly; their body language for a kiss before asking if his wife wants to stay until the end.

"Yeah, I'm all good. Just worried for Francesca…"Sabina whispered back, kissing his shoulder subtly. Her tears began to build up, swallowing them hard for Chester to not find out.

Having been married for over twenty years, the man held no regrets. Ever since Francesca came into their life, everything has been pretty much everything he could ask for. They both raised her to be an honest, well-educated and kind individual. He recalls her nightmares – ones she had ever since she was a small child. He remembers running to her bed and sleep by her side to comfort her, he recalls her knocking over five shelves of bookshelves in the library by accident. But there was something truly unique about this young girl from her first days at their residence. He presumed Sabina felt the same way when she caught Francesca red-handed and offered her a chance to live with them. The girl displayed an aura of purity more unpolluted than anyone else he has ever met. She would always seem lost with a glint in her eyes that always made her seem significantly older than she is. As if she was looking for something that was once a part of her.

He was no psychic, but something right now didn't feel right. And at that very thought, he was completely right.

The vicar's hands began to tremble as his voice became hoarse before the old man clutched his chest in agony and abruptly fell to the ground with a loud 'thump'. Everyone simultaneously gasped in horror before a company of surrounding soldiers sprinted towards him whilst instructing the inhabitants to stay well back.

Meg and Bastian took care of the remaining demons quickly, swinging their swords back and forth with grace and vivacity. A small horde of assaults were an unusual encounter in the city, but ones they were both well-trained for during their time in the Australian outback. Their styles differed greatly, with Bastian being much more expressive and reckless with his swings, in contrast to Megaera's more technical, precise techniques. That reason alone, however was most likely the reason behind them being paired so often, other than them being siblings. A ranking difference was not an obstacle for their union, either.

After their ritual post-demon slaying high five, an officer is heard running from the direction of the cathedral, urging the pair to run with him. The officer was Elijah, Meg's admirer who she saw back at the bar a few days earlier. Only this time he wasn't nearly as flirtatious. His hands clenched his sword so tight that his knuckles appeared white. His jaw was clenched and his skin was a paler shade. He ran so hard and fast that his hood fell back, revealing his dazed face. Meg grabbed him by the shoulders to attempt to calm him down whilst he was catching his breath.

Recollecting himself, he breathed out "The vicar….he's dying…the Order…they're - "before coughing out blood and passing out in front of the siblings, revealing the crimson stain on his back and revealing a stab wound. Blood began to spill out with more vigour, creating a dark puddle on the pavement, with drips now falling down a storm drain. Bastian and Meg both jolted back in utter horror and disbelief. Meg covered her mouth to sustain her scream and tears began to roll down her face. She could not believe what she is seeing. Whilst she was used to bloody injuries of fellow soldiers, she was not prepared for the passing of a close friend like this. She felt sick to her stomach to the point of throwing up and collapsing. Blood was a weakness she was too afraid to admit she has.

Her brother quickly grabbed her in comfort. Before she could pass out, Bastian shook her and instructed her to help the others in the cathedral, whilst he picks up Elijah's body and carry it to the Order's infirmary.

None of this made any sense to Meg. What did he mean about the Order…? That stab did not look like it came from a demon. He was 1) more than capable of handling them himself and 2) a demon would rip him in pieces rather than inflicting a clean stab wound in his most vital organ in one attempt like that. Something was going on that was not right. 'I gotta find out more about all this…' the young commander contemplated as she ran harder towards the cathedral.

Bursting the doors open, she found herself in the middle of a panicked crowd, with women, men and children screaming, crying, hunched on their benches, some holding each other, others desperately praying to Sparda. Other officers stood round the vicar, not knowing whether to stay with the vicar or carry him to the infirmary. Pushing any standing people aside for her to get through, Megaera commanded the company to pick up the vicar and carry him away, before commanding another company to calm down the dazed crowds.

The young woman took the podium where the vicar stood, calming herself down as her hands gripped to the railing rightly to remain upright and authoritative. Taking a deep sigh, the woman finally spoke stridently.

"Everyone, now is a good time to calm down!" The cries subsided, being replaced by whispers. Meg was thankful for the inhabitants being an obedient type, unlike the citizens from outside Fortuna.

"I want all of you now to go back to your homes and not come out until we have announced an all-clear! I understand you have been through much for the past few days, and I can promise you, with all my heart, that we will not let any of you leave this world knowing less than us" She lowered her voice. "Pray to Sparda, all will be well." She eyed for Sabina and Chester, who sat near the back of the hall, with the husband clutching his wife, who had a blank look plastered on her face. Her skin was paler than she remembered…their daughter was not with them, the commander noticed.

"Francesca…" she muttered.


End file.
